


well-deserved recognition

by pocky_slash



Series: Team Shithead [16]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awards, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Graduate School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-12 09:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11734266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: As much as Alex would like to accept this award on stage in front of everyone, smugly showing off to the rest of the graduate school, he has an article to finish editing and a deadline to meet.  Even if his friends are going out afterwards. Even if Washington is likely to shower him with compliments. Even with John sitting there, big eyes and disappointed frown, telling him how proud he is.(AKA Alex has a deadline and John wants to show him off in front of everyone else.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was for **thisstableground** ‘s birthday. I told her I’d write her a little thing if she wanted and she asked for Alex having so much work to do that he can’t celebrate his own birthday. Alex’s birthday falls outside of the semester schedule in this verse (and also I already wrote a very dumb thing about it), so here’s the next best thing: Alex being so busy working he can’t go to a party about how great he is.

"It's ironic, if you think about it," Alex mutters aloud absently. It's sandwiched in between thinking out loud about the nature of the conflict between scientific and spiritual explanations for the intuition-based components of parapsych. He doesn't even realize he's said it until John says, "What's ironic?"

He glances up from his laptop. His fingers are still typing. "Hm?" he asks.

"Babe, you've gotta take an hour or two off," John says. "It's just the award ceremony and the cocktail thing beforehand. You can spare it."

"I can't," Alex says. "The deadline for this stupid thing is midnight and if I want it published next quarter I've gotta get the edits in."

"You're one of the people getting an award! In part for the fucking study this article is on!"

"That's why it's ironic," Alex says. He looks back down at the screen, frowns, and then highlights and cuts a sentence, moving it to the middle of the paragraph. "Accept it on my behalf. Half the people who work here think we're the same person. Latino guys with long hair are apparently interchangeable to half the administration of this place. Which, don't get me wrong, I'm gonna take as a compliment because you're gorgeous and I mostly look like I haven't slept in a week."

"Well, that's not inaccurate," John says. "You and your eyebags, I mean." He waves a hand to get Alex's attention and Alex loves him very, very much, so he doesn't grab his wrist and shove it out of the way. "It's just two hours. You've earned this recognition, you deserve to, like, revel in it or whatever."

"You say 'two hours,' but we both know it'll be more. Washington'll wanna have a drink back in the lab, then Laf and Herc will wanna buy me shots at the bar, then, before we know it, it's eleven o'clock and I've still gotta get home and finish this thing."

"We can turn down those invitations."

"But we won't, cause we're idiots," Alex says. "Honey, just get the fucking plaque for me and hang out with our friends, I'll be fine."

"First of all," John says, "please never call me 'honey' again." Alex snorts. "Secondly, you're the one who's earned it! Jesus christ, I never thought it would be so hard to get you to go somewhere and listen to people talk about how great you are."

"If they want to postpone that talk until after this article is submitted, that would be excellent. Until then, I'm going to have to coast by on the ego boost from knowing they're just spouting compliments to me behind my back."

He hears John's chair scrape against the floor, but doesn't look up to see where he's gone. He's back a moment later with his iPad, which he leaves next to Alex. "Will you at least FaceTime me for the stupid thing?"

"What, so you can hold your phone up as you accept the award on my behalf? Maybe hold it in front of your face so it looks like it's really me picking it up. Or, me if I had a very small, square head and the sort of banging body that I'll never in a million years have without giving in to your entreaties to go to the fucking gym." John sighs heavily. "Get that? That's a pun. Banging? Because I—"

"I got it," John says dryly. "Alex, just—"

He's quiet after that, which is suspicious enough that Alex's typing slows and he looks up. John's leaning against the table, frowning. "What?" Alex asks.

"I just...I'm really proud of you," John says. "And I really want you to have that moment, you know? Of standing in front of people and being handed this thing and shaking the dean's hand. I want everyone else to see how amazing you are."

Alex's typing peters out. There's an unexpected lump in his throat. "John...."

"Oh god, don't turn this into like...a thing," he insists, pink blooming across his cheeks.

"What do you mean, don't turn this into a thing, you just fucking—"

"Oh my god..."

"—stood there and said something really...."

Alex trails off. He takes off his glasses and squeezes the bridge of his nose. His entire body aches from leaning over his laptop for the past two days. He's exhausted and sore and itching to go out and make some trouble with his best friends and the love of his life. He wants to stand on a stage and accept an award and have every asshole in the room—including fucking Jefferson, who's getting some dumb political science bullshit honor—see and admit how great he is. He wants to hear whatever Washington is going to say about him, because getting compliments from Washington is usually like squeezing water from a stone.

But he's made his bed. He went out over the weekend to celebrate the end of term and went out on Monday to celebrate the end of grading and he got up to have breakfast with John and Laf and Molly and Dolley and Jamika and Sybil and a few other people who are leaving for the summer, and now he's blown all of his time to work and he's stuck racing to the finish line. Sure, he could submit this now—it's pretty good, definitely better than most of the other shit published on the subject—but it could be _better_. It could cover more, it could be cleaner, and if he's going to make a name for himself, he wants to present the smartest, best version of himself possible.

He's already won Washington's award, it doesn't matter if he's there to actually take it in his hands. Not when he could be working on something he hasn't won yet.

And, of course, John has to rush in and throw that whole plan into disarray. John, who always seems to get under his skin and catch him off guard by just saying the simplest things. _I'm really proud of you_. When was the last time someone had said that to him and had it mean so fucking much, so much that Alex feels like his chest is going to split open?

He wraps his fingers around John's wrist and tugs him forward, down into a kiss. It's a weird angle—John's standing above him, leaning over him and kissing him almost sideways—but he'd still be able to recognize it anywhere. Simultaneously confident and shy, like he's sure of what he's doing but a little awed by why he's doing it. It's another thing about John that Alex struggles to put into concise words, like the things that he feels when they're kissing like this: joy, safety, disbelief, reassurance, passion, affection, fidelity. He squeezes John's wrist with one hand and laces the other into his hair. John licks gently against his bottom lip, his teeth, cradles his jaw. He takes Alex's glasses off with his other hand and, reluctantly, Alex pulls away just far enough to breathe.

He taps a finger against John's lips when he tries to go in for another kiss. "You can't fuck me into agreeing with you."

"I think you'll find that I fuck you into agreeing with me all the time," John says.

"Well, it's not gonna work this time." He holds out a hand and John sighs and puts his glasses in his open palm. "I'm serious. I _have_ to finish this tonight. Go to the thing. Say something nice about me. Drink a glass of champagne for me and let the guys buy you drinks on my behalf. If you're still out when I finish, I'll come join you."

"You don't have a car," John says. He sits on the edge of the table, right next to where Alex is working. The solid curve of his thighs makes another good case for why Alex should give in and let John do whatever convincing he wants.

"I'll call a Lyft." He taps John's knee, a compromise between the part of his brain that's determined to get this done and the part of his brain that wants John to wrap his legs around his waist. "Go on, let me finish. The faster I get done with this, the faster I can come meet up with you guys."

John hops off the table and just looks at Alex for a moment, chewing his lower lip.

"You're really not going to come?" he asks.

"I can't," Alex says, and it's a more disappointing admission than he expected. "There'll be other awards. Probably about a zillion of them—I'm pretty brilliant, if you hadn't noticed." John rolls his eyes. "You can show me off then. I can show off for _you_ then. I've gotta miss this one."

"Yeah, okay," John says. He shoves his hands in his pockets and leans over to press a quick kiss against Alex's mouth. "I'll see you later. Love you."

"Love you too," Alex says, and then makes himself focus on his screen again so he doesn't watch John walk out the door and change his mind.

He falls into his revisions, moving to the living room once it's clear the table isn't going to be big enough to hold all of his books and papers. He sits on the floor with his back against the sofa and spreads his materials out around him and all over the coffee table, neatly piling each document as he finishes with it. The sun starts to go down eventually, but he only notices it because it means he has to get up and put on the light. Otherwise, his attention is glued to his screen. The very back of his mind spares half a thought for his friends—out celebrating him right now while he's writing a fucking paper—but otherwise he forces himself into hyperfocus on his words. There'll be plenty of time for regret once he's finished this stupid thing.

That's probably why he doesn't really think about the door opening until whoever has opened it is already inside the apartment. Even once he acknowledges it, it takes him a moment to slow his typing and actually think about that fact. Someone is in the apartment. What the fuck time is it if they're home already?

"Hey, babe," John says. He lowers himself onto the floor next to Alex, leaning similarly back against the sofa.

Alex blinks at the clock on his computer. "It's not even eight. I thought the thing started at six?"

"It did," John confirms. He hands Alex a plaque. At the top is the school's crest, followed by _The Faculty of the Morristown University of New Jersey's Parapsychology Department formally recognizes Alexander Hamilton as the 2014-2015 Distinguished Graduate Scholar_. "Washington said some great stuff about you. Some of it might have been a little backhanded complimentary—'The first one in and the last one to leave, unceasingly questioning of his results, very confident in his findings' et cetera, et cetera. The sort of shit he says with a raised eyebrow in that kind of dry 'you assholes are gonna drive me to drink' voice."

"Yeah, I know the one," Alex says. He's still staring at the award. It's so strange to think how blasé he's become about working for George Washington in the past year, but here, holding this award, he's suddenly reminded that the most important scholar in his field is recognizing his brilliance.

"Anyway, I picked it up and just said a quick, you know, 'He couldn't be here tonight, but he's very honored' et cetera, et cetera, 'I'm proud to know him and delighted to see him recognized formally in front of the school,' blah blah blah. Herc taped the whole thing like a soccer mom at a school play."

A smile creeps onto Alex's face. "'Delighted.'"

"Jubilant, ecstatic, euphoric," John says. "Something like that. You know, 'he's an asshole, but he's pretty and smart, so I'll keep him around.'"

"Sounds like you," Alex says.

"Mmhm."

He needs to put the plaque down if he wants to keep working. He's so close to being done—maybe another two hours—but it pains him to set it to the side. "And, what, you want to change before you meet the guys?" He tugs John's tie, a green and navy chevron pattern that's clearly an expensive remanent of his previous life as a trust fund kid.

"Nah," John says. He loosens the tie a little and scoots across the floor until he's close enough that Alex can feel his body heat. "I'm home for the night."

Alex blinks at him slowly. "They're coming here?"

"No, they're going out," John says. "I'm coming here."

Alex blinks again. "Why?"

"Because I'd rather spend the night in with you then go out drinking with our friends knowing you're back here by yourself, asshole." John elbows him. "They should take back that award, you're pretty slow, as it turns out."

"Fuck off," Alex says. "I just...." He tries again, tries to find those elusive words, the magical sentences that can contain all these things that John makes him feel. "Thanks," he says finally.

"Nothing to thank me for," John says. He stretches his legs out and leans a little against Alex's shoulder. "Write your thing, Molly finally remembered to bring that book she wants me to read." He produces it out of his bag, a beat up paperback novel.

"Okay," Alex says, dazed.

"And when you're done and everything's submitted, we'll have a celebratory drink and then a celebratory you fucking me stupid."

Alex chokes on a laugh. "Sounds like a good plan."

"Of course it is, I came up with it," John says. He gestures towards Alex's computer with his book. "Go on. Write your thing."

"Only because you asked so nicely," Alex says. And it's easy to slip back into writing after that, working even faster now that John is beside him, even though he's only reading a novel. There will be other awards, other reasons to celebrate. He's not missing out on anything, especially since he has the most important part of that celebration right here, next to him, warm against his side in the quiet of the empty apartment.


	2. Accepting on Behalf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John accepts Alex's award on his behalf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After I posted the first part, someone requested to see what John said at the ceremony and I ran with it.

"And now," Dean Adams says, "to present the award for Distinguished Graduate Scholar in Parapsychology, Dr. George Washington."

John is pleased to note that Washington gets significantly more applause than Adams did when he took the stage. By the sour look on Adams' face as he steps back and takes his seat again, it didn't go unnoticed by him, either. Herc and a few other students whistle shrilly, and eventually Washington motions for the applause to die down. He puts on his reading glasses and clears his throat.

"Good evening," he says, and one of the harried looking students volunteering for the event runs forward and nudges the mic closer to his mouth. "Tonight, I have the honor of presenting the award for the Parapsychology Department's Distinguished Graduate Scholar to Alexander Hamilton." John can't stop himself from a spontaneous cheer, but he's gratified that he's not the only one doing the cheering. Lafayette and Herc and a handful of other parapsych people he knows are equally enthusiastic. Or, at least, they're enthusiastic, period. John doesn't think any of them could match his pride right now. "Mr. Hamilton is a first year student in our program, but in ten months, he's shown remarkable potential. He came to us after graduating summa cum laude from Columbia University in only two years. In his first month at Morristown, he took the Investigative Parapsychologist Exam and received a perfect score, something that fewer than one quarter of one percent of students achieve. After two terms with us, he has a perfect GPA, and right this moment he's revising a paper for the _Atlantic Parapsychology Journal_.

"But Distinguished Scholar is about more than academics. Mr. Hamilton is an exemplary student in all the ways that count as well. He's worked these past two semesters as a Teaching Assistant, a Graduate Assistant, and a tutor. He's volunteered to act as a Research Assistant for the summer, all in addition to doing parapsychology field work both academically and as a certified Investigative Parapsychologist. He handles all of those responsibilities with care and aplomb, and is a great asset to our lab. He's always willing to take on extra work. One of the first into the lab every day and always one of the last to leave, his creative and global thinking has propelled everyone he works with to success. He never settles for anything but the best—constantly interrogating his results and consulting with research until he's sure of his findings. He stands by his work with confidence, but isn't afraid to adjust in light of new information. Most of all, despite his own meteoric rise to the top of his department, he's kept a level head and remains a team player. He's quick to consult with his labmates on their areas of expertise and recognizes the value of team work. He's bonded closely with those in the lab—" And, yep, he definitely spares half a glance to John, who shrinks down in his chair and blushes. "—and looks at every success as a success for the whole group."

Embarrassment aside, John can't help the way his heart swells with pride, tight and warm in his chest. He's a little misty-eyed, which is stupid, but he's so fucking _proud_ of Alexander. He knows he has very little to do with Alex's success, but he's still proud to know him, proud to watch him come into his own. He may have spent the last seven or so years being an anonymous researcher on the internet, but here in the lab he really shines. It's beautiful to watch, and John loves him so fucking much he can't put it into words.

"Accepting the award on Mr. Hamilton's behalf is John Laurens."

Except, he kind of has to.

There's some polite applause as John gets to his feet and absently buttons his blazer, the etiquette drilled into him still after all his years of school uniforms and charity galas. He climbs the stairs to the stage quickly and shakes Adams' hand, accepting the certificate and then shakes Washington's and takes the plaque.

"Don't let this go to his head," Washington murmurs, so low only John can hear it, and he struggles not to laugh as he moves to stand in front of the podium, pulling the mic down so he can speak into it.

"Thank you, Dean Adams, Dr. Washington, and the rest of the department faculty," he says. "As Dr. Washington implied, Alexander is at home tonight so he can submit a paper to one of the oldest and most distinguished parapsychology journals in the country, and if you see him at any point this week, he'll be sure to use both of those adjectives when he describes it to you." He pauses for the chuckle from the audience and keeps his pleased mask in place to hide his nerves. He doesn't flinch at speaking in front of people normally, but speaking about an academic subject is far, far different than speaking about his boyfriend, no matter how brief the statement. He has to swallow against a lump in his throat. He didn't prepare any notes—he didn't think he'd have to. He figured he'd come up, thank everyone on Alex's behalf, maybe say a few things about how hard he works. He didn't factor in this head-to-toe swell of emotion overtaking him. God, he's going to completely embarrass himself.

But he'll embarrass himself more if he just stands here and stares blankly out into the audience, so he takes a deep breath and charges forward.

"Anyway," he says, and once the first word is out, the rest start to come more easily. "I'll keep this quick since I'm not Alexander and if he's not going to be here, I should spare you the speech he wrote to fill every second of the five minutes he was allotted to speak." Another small laugh from the audience, but John presses forward. He's afraid if he stops again, he'll say something unforgivably maudlin or emotional when he starts back up. "Everything Dr. Washington said about Alex is true—he's the most brilliant person I've ever met. He's driven and dedicated not just to his own success, but to the success of this field as a whole. Trust me when I tell you that he's very honored to receive this recognition. I'm really just...incredibly proud to know him and so, so grateful to have him in my life. And honestly I'm, like...delighted to see the school confirming what we all already know: that he's a star and we're lucky to have him. _I'm_ lucky to have him." Down in the audience he sees Laf mime gagging and Herc snicker from behind the phone he's been using to film the whole thing. "Thanks again to the faculty and the administration, and congratulations to the other honorees."

He steps away from the microphone as the applause starts again, and Washington puts a hand on his shoulder and they stroll off the stage together. Once they're in the wings and Adams is announcing the next honoree, Washington sighs and shakes his head.

"Couldn't pull him away from that article?" he says.

"Believe me, I used every tool in my considerable arsenal to drag him here," John says.

"I don't doubt it," Washington says. "Regardless, there are about four awards left. Afterwards, you and Gilbert and Mulligan should come back to the lab and we'll toast to him."

John looks down at the plaque in his hands. _The Faculty of the Morristown University of New Jersey's Parapsychology Department formally recognizes Alexander Hamilton as the 2014-2015 Distinguished Graduate Scholar_. The first of what John is positive will be many accolades and recognitions.

"No thanks," he says, looking back up at Washington. His heart is doing the same thing as before, swelling and warming him and nearly breaking his chest open with pride. "I think I'm just gonna go home."

"I had a feeling you might say that," Washington says. "Tell him we're all very proud of him."

"I will," John promises, and slips back down into the auditorium, grinning like a fool all the way to his seat.

**Author's Note:**

> On Friday, a coda about the actual ceremony that Alex missed.


End file.
